oyal Americans, who had borne the brunt of the
fray, bore also nearly all the loss; which, in proportion to their
numbers, was enormous. Knox reports it at four hundred and forty-three,
killed, wounded, and missing, including one colonel, eight captains,
twenty-one lieutenants, and three ensigns.

Vaudreuil, delighted, wrote to Bourlamaque an account of the affair. "I
have no more anxiety about Quebec. M. Wolfe, I can assure you, will make
no progress. Luckily for him, his prudence saved him from the
consequences of his mad enterprise, and he contented himself with losing
about five hundred of his best soldiers. Deserters say that he will try
us again in a few days. That is what we want; he'll find somebody to
talk to (_il trouvera a qui parler_)."

NOTE: Among the killed in this affair was Edward Botwood, sergeant in
the grenadiers of the forty-seventh, or Lascelles' regiment. "Ned
Botwood" was well known among his comrades as a poet; and the following
lines of his, written on the eve of the expedition to Quebec, continued
to be favorites with the British troops during the War of the Revolution
(see _Historical Magazine_, II., First Series, 164). It may be observed
here that the war produced a considerable quantity of indifferent verse
on both sides. On that of the English it took the shape of occasional
ballads, such as "Bold General Wolfe," printed on broadsides, or of
patriotic effusions scattered through magazines and newspapers, while
the French celebrated all their victories with songs.

HOT STUFF.

Air,--Lilies of France.

Come, each death-doing dog who dares venture his neck,
Come, follow the hero that goes to Quebec;
Jump aboard of the transports, and loose every sail,
Pay your debts at the tavern by giving leg-bail;
And ye that love fighting shall soon have enough:
Wolfe commands us, my boys; we shall give them Hot Stuff.

Up the River St. Lawrence our troops shall advance,
To the Grenadiers' March we will teach them to dance.
Cape Breton we have taken, and next we will try
At their capital to give them another black eye.
Vaudreuil 't is in vain you pretend to look gruff,--
Those are coming who know how to give you Hot Stuff.

With powder in his periwig, and snuff in his nose,
Monsieur will run down our descent to oppose;
And the Indians will come: but the light infantry
Will soon oblige _them_ to betake to a tree.
From such rasc